by KaLyn Cooper
Xena turned right down a side street then right again before coming to a full stop at a gate. Ryker sat up as the armed Marine approached the driver’s window.
“Sorry, Xena, I know it’s you, but I have to scan your identification.” Ducking, the Marine looked through her window directly at Ryker. “Identification, please, sir.”
Well aware of the drill after working on military bases for seventeen years, he’d already reached for the passport that Charley had sent him. It had been authentic enough to get through immigration at the airport, so he hoped the Marine would be satisfied.
“I’ll be right back.” The sergeant waved both passports and disappeared inside the booth.
When Ryker was about to say something, Xena looked at him, barely shook her head side to side as she reached across the console, and squeezed his forearm.
“No worries. We’ll make it to the state banquet in time.” She turned her head so her voice carried toward the guard house.
Seconds later, the Marine returned and stood close to Xena’s open window. After giving her a smile, his gaze went to Ryker. “Looks like you just got here yesterday, Mr. Tufano. Welcome to Ethiopia.” The younger man grinned and nodded toward the embassy. “And welcome back to the United States of America for as long as you stay inside these walls.” It was obviously a joke he had used often.
Xena passed over his passport without taking her gaze off the Marine. “Since you’re on the gate, I guess you’re going to miss the party tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am. I get to handle all the passports rather than dance with the gorgeous women.” He moved in a step closer and spoke just above a whisper. “But I’ll be at your mother’s birthday party next week. Save me a dance?”
“Absolutely.”
The Marine in dress blues stepped back and waved her through the opening gate.
Although Xena looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, maybe she was younger than she looked.
He couldn’t help asking, “Do you and your mother live on the embassy property?”
“I occasionally stay with her when in the city.” She gave a slight shrug. “I do have a bedroom here as do my brothers. We all keep clothes at the Phillips House but mostly formal attire. We get roped into these dinners far too often. I like to think of Eden as my home. I spend much more time there than in the city.”
She rounded the bend and before them stood a beautiful red brick home that looked as though it had been picked up in Atlanta in the early nineteen hundreds and dropped in Ethiopia. It was just short of palatial.
“The ambassador lives well.” Especially compared to the tiny hovels across the street.
“The United States has maintained an embassy in Ethiopia since 1906. Phillips House, named for that first ambassador, was originally the embassy.” Xena sounded rather like a tour guide. She pulled into a garage on the far side next to a white limousine. “Now, the third floor of the embassy contains the private home of the ambassador and a few apartments for embassy officers. This is Mom’s house. It came with the job as Director of East African Affairs for the U.S. She has a wider area to cover than the ambassador but not as much power and influence.”
She hopped out of the truck and without looking back, headed to the closest door. She was immediately met by a tall, thin man in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and red, white, and blue tie.
“Nagasi, meet Ryker. I have to go get dressed.” And she disappeared down a hallway. “He’s never been to a state dinner before. Will you see to that…please?” The request seemed to fade away as though Xena entered a different realm.
“Mr. Ryker—”
“It’s Tufano. My name is Ryker Tufano.” He held out his hand.
The small-framed man smiled as he accepted the proffered hand and shook it gently. He offered his name but after fifteen syllables of unpronounceable letters and vowels, Ryker gave up.
The older man’s aged, wrinkled face drew into a wide smile. “Everyone calls me Nagasi. I would be pleased if you would do the same.”
“I can handle that.”
“Please follow me.” With an exaggerated nod, Nagasi turned and headed down the hall in the opposite direction Xena had gone.
As Ryker followed, he took in the beautiful craftsmanship of the hand-carved crown molding and antique hall tables that looked too fragile to touch. He’d seen similar ones in early American homes owned by the wealthiest that had been made into museums.
Nancy and Frank had taken one week off every year for vacation and a museum of one kind or another was always on the schedule. Sometimes when he’d accompany his foster mom into town, she’d stop by the antique store and browse through just to see if something caught her fancy. His mom would be in seventh heaven walking through this home.
Glancing to his left he peered through a round hole into what seemed to be a commercial-sized kitchen.
Nagasi pointed to the room on the right. It was one of the biggest dining rooms he’d ever seen. “Once you’ve showered and dressed, please return here for your state dinner lesson. I have it set for a small dinner party Mrs. Riggs is hosting tomorrow night.”
Small? That table could easily seat thirty people. Xena certainly lived in a different world from him.
Ten feet farther down the hall, they entered a door into a starkly different part of the house. This area was definitely not for company. Everything seemed utilitarian. Nagasi stopped in front of the sturdy door and swiped a key card before he entered a six-digit number.
Three walls were lined with suit jackets and dress pants to tuxedos with tails, secure inside clear bags. Sizes were labeled above each. On the fourth wall were stacks of new shoes still in the boxes.
“What size slacks do you wear?” Nagasi asked as he headed to that section.
When Ryker gave him the waist and length, he hoped he was right. He hadn’t lost all the weight he’d gained while wallowing in self-pity. “I’ll need to try them on to be sure they fit comfortably.”
“Our time is limited so why don’t you select a jacket? Even though we’re in summer, the protocol officer has deemed this event black-tie. He’s new, so he’ll need to be forgiven.”
Ryker went to the correct section and pulled a jacket out of the bag. “I really hate wearing these monkey suits. I wish I could wear my Navy dress blues.”
“No, you don’t. You’re undercover in case nobody told you. There is much to be learned at a formal dinner.” Nagasi approached with three pairs of black slacks, each with a silk ribbon running down the outside seam. “Follow me. After you’ve freshened up, try these.” He unlocked another door and led the way down a narrower hallway. The doors on each side contained numbers, like a nineteenth-century hotel.
Producing a skeleton key with the number six engraved, Nagasi opened the corresponding door. Inside was a beautiful bedroom any modern bed and breakfast would be proud to offer.
“Your ensuite is through that door. You should find everything you need. Your bag has already been delivered.” He pointed to a small stool and Ryker’s backpack. “I’ll expect you in the dining room in fifteen minutes, ready for the evening. I apologize for our tight timetable, but I was not aware I was conducting protocol lessons. When you leave your room, turn to the right, make your first left. It exits into the hall across from the dining room where I’ll see you in fourteen minutes.”
With a slight bow, he was gone.
Twelve minutes later, Ryker stepped into the formal dining room, tugging on the left side of his jacket. Nagasi seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“This jacket seems to be larger on one side. I might need a different one.” He hated to ask but he knew he would fidget with the lopsided material.
“Which side do you prefer to wear your weapon?”
“I’m allowed to be armed?” That was certainly a surprise.
“You’d better carry one, if not two or three.” Nagasi shook his head. “This is not the United States, although the ground upon which you stand is claime
d by your country and everything upon it belongs to the U.S. You are in Ethiopia. This is a very dangerous country, especially for you.” He opened his own jacket and saw that the man had a shoulder holster with guns on each side. He sighed. “Follow me, quickly.”
Ryker had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the man who kept surprising him. Another card swipe and six-digit code later, they entered a small armory. Guns from every country around the world lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Boxes of shells sat beside each weapon along with multiple magazines.
This room was a SEAL’s wet dream.
But he knew he had to choose quickly. Within one minute, he was headed back out the door with a forty-five caliber Glock nestled in a shoulder holster, a small forty caliber Smith & Wesson strapped to his ankle, and extra magazines in a leather pouch at the small of his back.
Ryker felt at ease for the first time since landing…until he was seated at the dining room table. There were more plates, glasses, and silverware than he’d ever seen at one place setting.
“I’ve confirmed with the banquet staff that the meal tonight is all American, as is preferred by the vice president’s son. It’s not hamburgers and French fries but it is prime rib and potatoes. Your supper will be served in seven courses.” Nagasi spent the next ten minutes explaining each course and the correct silverware and glasses. Ryker was never so glad in his life that his mom ingrained table manners into him since arriving at the Holt farm at age five. Correct hand positions and the use of a knife and fork came naturally to him.
When they reached the dessert course, feminine voices drifted down the hall.
“Wishing you the best of luck, sir. I must now attend to the ladies.” Nagasi bowed once more before leaving the room.
Ryker followed him out and down the hall to the front of the building.
Two goddesses floated down the wide curved stairway, chatting as though they didn’t have a care in the world. He almost didn’t recognize Xena. Her transformation from badass to princess took his breath away.
Her black satin gown hugged her ample breasts in what a girlfriend once called an empire waist. It seemed to drop to the floor like a waterfall that shimmered with iridescence at every move but somehow hugged her curves. Curls fell past her shoulders, so he wasn’t sure if the gown was strapless or held on by tiny threads.
With her eyebrows and lashes enhanced with makeup, her golden-brown eyes seemed huge when they caught and held his. As though she could read the surprise in his mind, she gave him a satisfied smile.
When the two women reached the last step, Xena moved to his side. “Mother, I would like you to meet Ryker Tufano. Ryker, may I present Mrs. Lynette Riggs, Director of the Office of East African Affairs for the United States of America.”
The older woman held out her hand. Ryker wasn’t sure if he should kiss it or shake it. Either way, he needed to take it in his hand. He was thankful when Mrs. Riggs slid into a shake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tufano.” She glanced at her daughter expectantly. She hadn’t explained his reason for being there. Ryker was also wondering what role he was to play that evening.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”
Two men, about the same height and build as Ryker, joined them. Their tuxedos seemed to be custom fitted.
“Madame Director, Ms. Riggs, we’re ready whenever you wish to leave,” the one on the right announced.
Monkey Suit on the left leaned into Xena and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and smacked his biceps with the back of her hand. Familiarity. Were they lovers? Friends? Ryker wondered at the relationship.
“Blade, behave,” Xena chastised playfully.
“There will be plenty of cocktails at the embassy, so I see no reason to drink our liquor.” Mrs. Riggs glanced at Xena. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s do this.” Her curls bobbed over perfectly rounded breasts as Xena nodded.
“Eve and DD on the move. Ready to exit.” Monkey Suit Number One said into the tiny mic attached to his ear bud—that Ryker missed noticing before—as he led the way through the huge two-story foyer and cracked open one of the double doors. He signaled for the entourage to hold while he waited for permission. After a few seconds, they were hurried into a white limousine waiting at the bottom of the steps. The one called Blade brought up the rear then slid into the backseat on the other side of Xena.
“Aren’t we just going over to the embassy?” Ryker pointed to the large white building a few hundred feet away.
Blade raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Well, perhaps it’s too long a walk for Mrs. Riggs in high heels. Then he wanted to hit his head with the palm of his hand. He was sitting across from one of the most high-value targets in all of Africa. As he looked outside the embassy campus, he noticed several possible sniper perches and was glad that Xena’s mother had such diligent bodyguards.
Knowing he only had a few moments, Ryker turned his head and whispered to Xena, “So, what am I supposed to be tonight? An old friend? Your date? Or your bodyguard?”
She twisted and pressed her breasts against him, pulling him closer to her. With her lips next to his ear, she whispered, “You’re my new boyfriend and you’d better act like it.” She kissed his neck just below his ear and fire raced through his veins, settling in his balls.
Kissing her way up his neck, fueling the flames, he lowered his mouth and captured her lips with his. When she opened for him, his hands automatically wrapped around her, one sliding to the back of her neck and the other across a wide expanse of skin.
Is the dress backless?
As he broke the kiss, Ryker’s eyes popped open.
Blade glared at him.
Shit. Was Xena involved with Blade? Or was he just overprotective as a bodyguard? Had she kissed Ryker to make the other man jealous, playing stupid feminine games? Or did Blade have a secret lust for Xena?
These were all questions for later because the limousine came to a stop under a portico. Men in tuxedos and white gloves stepped forward and opened all the doors, quickly surrounding them as they strolled inside.
Where Philip House had been elegantly stately, the embassy was modern commercial—light blue-gray walls, white and gray floor tiles, bright overhead lights. They were led through a side door, bypassing the metal detectors and bag search where uniformed Marines were already processing guests.
With Monkey Suit Number One on her left, Mrs. Riggs strode regally down the wide hallway. Xena slipped her hand through Ryker’s left elbow and gave him a little tug, following behind her mother. Once again, Blade brought up the rear.
Leaning in, Xena whispered, “There’s not supposed to be a receiving line for cocktails but we’ll have to make the rounds.” Her knuckles brushed against the holster under his arm. “You shoot right-handed?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They entered a room obviously designed for entertaining. Thickly padded burgundy carpet helped absorb the noise, as did the heavy drapes framing the windows that looked out upon an inner garden. Soft lighting gave the room a more intimate feel. In lighted glass cases along the walls were various local crafts with brass nameplates commemorating the event or person giving the gift to the embassy. No one paid attention to them. People chatted quietly in groups of three to five. Short-jacketed waiters carried trays of hors d’oeuvres, champagne, fruit juice, coffee, and something served in a small glass.
Xena picked up two of the latter as a server passed. “Have you ever had tej?” She handed one to him. “It’s a locally produced honey wine, kind of like the mead that’s quite popular in Ireland.”
Ryker took a sip. “It’s certainly sweet. Beer is usually my drink choice.”
“Come on.” Once again she slipped her hand through his left elbow and guided him to an almost hidden bar in the corner. “Most Ethiopians prefer dark beer. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely.” Porters and stouts were his favorites, but becaus
e they were usually handcrafted in microbreweries, they were a treat left for special occasions. Well, he guessed that his first state cocktail party and formal dinner were reason to celebrate.
Xena ordered in the local language then handed him a newly opened bottle. One sip and Ryker wanted to groan with pleasure. “This is excellent. Thank you.”
She was looking at someone across the room, then sighed. “Mother is insisting we mingle.”
“Lead the way.” Ryker had no idea how to mingle at an event such as this.
For the next twenty minutes, he watched and learned. Xena was an expert who seemed to know at least half the people in the room. She introduced him to prime ministers, generals who ran countries, lots of American staffers stationed at other Eastern African countries, and even a Saudi prince whose billionaire father owned most of the mineral rights in Ethiopia. If there was going to be a test of their names at the end of the night, he would surely fail.
Faces. Countries. Possible threat level. He would nail every one of those questions, however.
With every new group they approached, he realized just how comfortable Xena was in this setting. She had probably been attending such events all her life and yet, in his thirty-five years, this was his first. She lived up to his nickname for her, Xena Warrior Princess.
It was a damn good thing he wasn’t the least bit interested in her because she was so far out of his class.
Chapter 6
Xena pasted on her social smile as she played the good hostess and best guest as she worked the room for her mother. She knew her role well. She was there to replace her father, protecting her mother by running interference when needed, touching base with the staff of other dignitaries for the most recent gossip, and most importantly, to listen.
Alcohol loosened tongues and Xena was always surprised at the things people would tell her. She was not seen as an important public figure. She was so far down the ladder from any position of prominence that people, okay, mostly men, told her all kinds of things. Seven months ago, she had learned of a pending coup in South Sudan. Last year, a staffer from Uganda had confessed that their president was quite ill and there was a great deal of speculation as to who would be his successor.
